


Castle of a Thousand Flowers

by BirgitteHeuschkel



Category: Vampire Hunter D
Genre: Costume and scenery porn, Dark magics, Dastardly Nobles, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirgitteHeuschkel/pseuds/BirgitteHeuschkel
Summary: A search and rescue operation from a vampire's domain seems like routine, but when his Noble employer wants to tag along, the vampire hunter is less than thrilled.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I published this story in 2009 on the Other Site. Revisiting it in 2017 I've given it a lot of editorial love but made no changes to the plot proper. If it seems familiar, well, that's why.

The patrons fell silent as the stranger entered the smoke-filled taproom, for he was nearly seven feet tall, dressed entirely in black, and had a large sword strapped to his back. The rowdy farm boys shut up as he walked towards the counter. Even Molly, friend to all men in more ways than one, fell quiet as he brushed past, his cape and wide-brimmed hat obscuring his features. When he reached the counter he offered no indication that he even noticed the effect he had had on the otherwise so noisy inn.

“I require lodging for myself and for my horse.” His voice was a quiet tenor, by no means aggressive. Everyone listened intently anyway.

Mistress Dot tilted her head to get a better look up under the hat. “I've got beds,” she said. “I've got a stable. But I ain't got the kind of food your kind sometimes wants. Reckon I can get you a steak not too well done, though.”

“That'll do.” The stranger dropped a few coins on the counter and she swept them into the drawer.

“Molly'll show you upstairs, then.” Dot stared hard at the shadow that concealed the stranger's features. “No funny stuff. If anything happens –”

“Nothing happens.”

Molly, somewhat plain of appearance but popular among her patrons, sidled over and gestured towards the stairs at the back of the room. “This way, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Silence lingered in the wake of the tall stranger's footfalls as they ascended the stairs and vanished from sight. Mistress Dot turned to glare at her patrons. “That's enough gawking. Go back to your drinking.”

The nearest farmer held out his stein for a refill, breaking the spell. The taproom filled back up with the usual noise and laughter. Cigarette smoke and drunken jests mingled with speculation: Was that really? No kidding? Think there's going to be trouble, then?

Night fell and blanketed the town in dark velvet pierced only by the lights streaming from windows. Sometimes they flickered as people moved about inside. The occasional blue shimmer of the force fields that kept the town safe from the beasts and creatures of the wilds created strange patterns of light that went ignored by the distant stars. Voices and the occasional peal of laughter from a child drifted about and sometimes, cattle mooed in displeasure when a farm maid was tardy with the milk pail.

The force fields at the edge of town flickered as they admitted a lone rider on a chestnut horse. A farmer thumbed his hat in acknowledgement as the newcomer steered his horse towards the town centre and the inn. The rider dismounted there and left his horse to wait, not bothering to tie it to the post. He entered the taproom with confident strides. Once again, the room fell silent and then, grudgingly, most of the patrons nodded their acknowledgement. A merchant stared openly. Two travelling tinkerers decided that they preferred the open road instead and left.

This man too was tall, if not as tall as the other stranger, the dark one. Nor was he shrouded in all black but instead donned a dove grey silk coat that left his features clearly visible above a white neck tie. His hair fell in loose auburn locks to his shoulders, obscuring pointed ears, and his eyes would have been handsome if they had not been the colour of blood. He was unarmed but for a riding crop, and he twirled it in one hand as he strode up to the counter.

“Your Lordship,” Mistress Dot greeted him cautiously. “How can we be of service?”

The Noble glanced back at the taproom. The patrons promptly found interesting things to look at in their glasses and plates. “I've come to see the hunter. I don't see anyone like that here, though.”

“He keeps to his room,” Mistress Dot agreed. “Molly, go tell him he has a visitor.”

The girl slunk towards the staircase, hesitating.

“Go on,” the vampire lord encouraged her. “I don't have all night, dear.”

Several more patrons quietly left. A few pulled their chairs closer as well, too curious or too drunk to worry about their own safety. The vampire made himself comfortable in an armchair in front of the fireplace, stretching long legs to reveal riding boots that were slightly dusty from the road. He rushed a hand over his coat to remove a miniscule speck of dirt and sheathed the riding crop in one boot. The air in the otherwise warm room appeared to drop well below freezing as Molly returned, accompanied by the tall, dark vampire hunter.

The maid slipped past the hunter, to the relative safety of having the counter between herself and the two men. The hunter did not draw his sword, nor did his hands wander towards the pouches on his belt. He did not even glance about to assess the situation and look for possible escape routes. He simply stood.

The Noble looked him up and down, then gestured with one hand towards the chair next to his own, in front of the fire. “You are the hunter that some call D?”

The hunter nodded, silent.

“Dhampir, vampire hunter, solitary, and indeed, dark and silent,” the vampire mused. “I've heard quite a bit about you. I've looked forwards to meeting you in the flesh. Do you know who I am?”

The hunter did not reply. Nor did he move towards the chair.

“Oh, please.” Annoyance flashed across the Noble's pleasant features. “Don't just stand there waiting for me to make the first move. Don't I get to make a speech first? I believe I get to boast my superiority and berate you for turning on your own kin before I die? Perhaps Molly can play damsel in distress for us?” He found his composure and chuckled. “I've not come to fight you, D. I've come to hire you.”

Molly dropped a glass at hearing her own name spoken. The girl did not look like she cared to get involved.

The hunter nodded. “I'm not interested.”

“Might want to hear what His Lordship has to say,” Mistress Dot murmured from well behind the counter.

The vampire's pale lips twitched into a pleasant smile. “She keeps a crossbow under that counter. Each bolt is edged with a cross. Just in case.” He nodded at the innkeep, then turned his crimson gaze on the hunter again. “You're a vampire hunter. You kill vampires, and people pay you for that. Well, I so happen to have a vampire in need of killing and the money to pay for such a service. Will you refuse simply because I am a Noble myself?”

“Yes.”

“He's not from around here,” Mistress Dot said apologetically and then fell silent at a reproving, crimson look.

The vampire drew the riding crop from his boot and tapped it against his palm in a display of impatience. “You disposed of the Bloody Countess, or so I've heard. Compared to that, the task I have in mind is menial. Quite classic, really. Girl gone missing, sealed castle – your typical search and rescue operation. The only not quite standard part is that I intend to go with you.”

The room temperature seemed to drop another couple of degrees.

The Noble pushed himself out of the chair and walked to stand in front of the taller hunter, casual demeanour fading. “This town is part of my domain, vampire hunter. Take a good look at it. It's peaceful. Well defended. You were not turned away or refused service in spite of your – condition.” He glanced at the few patrons who had not yet managed to disappear or will themselves invisible. “These men are afraid. Not of me, but of you.”

The dark figure's cloak rustled slightly as the dhampir looked at the men. Then he looked back at the vampire and nodded.

The Noble dipped into a pocket and produced a topographical map. The name of the region was neatly printed near the top right corner, but even without that it was easily recognisable. He tapped a point on the map with the tip of his riding crop. “This is Castle Millefleur. In spite of the pretty name it is not very – hospitable. You'll want to avoid the surrounding villages, too. The villagers there will not ask before shooting when they catch sight of your dark, silent, and cheerful self.” He smiled. “Of course you're going to go have a look anyway. I know your reputation. I, however, prefer to not get shot at, so I will meet you here.” He tapped the map again. “At the river fork. You can keep the map, I know the way.”

The hunter said nothing.

The vampire lord smirked and then inclined his head towards Mistress Dot. “Have a pleasant evening, dear. I do apologise for the disturbance.”

“You too, my lord,” she mumbled as he strode out without waiting for her reply – or, apparently, any concerns about a seven foot crescent sword finding its way into his back.

 

* * * *

 

The cold, ethereal beauty of the vampire hunter drew people to desire him or at least get confused about their own gender preferences. Like moths to a flame, there was always one or two who felt brave enough, or death driven enough, to test his resolve. He or she or they would turn up when he was alone, trying to strike up a conversation or make a more direct proposition. The hunter was not at all surprised when Molly slipped into the stable in the early hour before dawn, just as he was securing the saddle straps on his cybernetic horse. “Sir?” she asked.

He waited for her to say her piece.

She edged a few steps closer but did not open her bodice. Nor did she run her fingers suggestively through her hair. She just looked at him. “Are you going to meet the viscount as he said to?”

D nodded.

“Please don't kill him,” Molly begged. “He's very nice. Really.”

The hunter put a foot in one stirrup and gracefully mounted the horse. The girl kept looking at him.

“Think about it. Please.”

He made no reply. The pressure of his booted heels against its flanks made the horse spring into motion, past her. Soon he was a disappearing speck of blackness on the road leading out of town.

Molly sighed and went back to work.

 

* * * *

 

The hunter reined in his untiring horse atop the hill crest. He dipped into his belt and produced the map that the Noble had left for him, then studied it. The river rushed along below, snaking its way through rapids and gorges – and the road followed the same general direction, winding around nature's obstacles, towards a valley where the river was joined by a tributary and became wide and shallow. Several villages were marked on the map, forming a semi-circle in which Castle Millefleur constituted the centre. The road wound its way through the villages before reaching the castle. On the map it was marked as wide but in actuality it seemed to have less traffic the closer to the vale he got.

The valley was beautiful in the afternoon sun. The river was a silver ribbon that curled its way between fields and meadows. A skylark frolicked in the air, its trills rendering a carefree mood to the scene and almost glossing over the sobriety of the gallows next the road, and the reek of decay wafting from the corpse dangling at the end of the rope.

The hunter studied it. A man's body, neck broken by the fall before he could suffocate from strangulation. It was too far decomposed to have much face left but to judge from its attire, it had once been a farmer or shepherd in his mature years. A sign hung around the corpse's neck, a rough-hewn plank of wood upon which was scrawled in charcoal, “LIAR”.

“Cute,” the hunter's left hand observed. “D, you really know how to pick the scenery. Can we at least move upwind of that thing?”

The horse plodded forward in a relaxed trot, the kind that ate up the miles, and took its rider towards the valley and the first village marked on the map.

“We could just go the other way,” the hand pointed out. “You've not been given any actual money for this gig yet. And that vampire viscount being all buddy buddy? I don't like it.”

The hunter ignored the complaints of the small, wrinkled face on his palm. “Glamour,” he offered as an explanation.

“Definitely not,” the symbiont retorted. “We've both seen enough Noble glamour to know what it looks like and I'm telling you, D, that girl wasn't under some vampire charm spell – and neither was that innkeep with the crossbow. Are you even paying attention? Those charming country folk were not scared of their local vampire, they were scared you'd run that big knife of yours through his pretty coat.”

The dhampir nodded.

“And that doesn't strike you as a little off? How many benevolent, beloved Noble rulers have you happened across lately? Pillar of the community, donates, goes to church on Sundays, runs an orphanage in his spare time? It's a trap, duh.”

The road turned and offered a better view of the village that lay around the next bend. The great, cybernetic horse trotted ahead at a pace that was considerably faster than that of its unmodified brethren. “Well, that looks like crap,” D's hand broke off its complaining.

It did, though, it really did. The houses were worn-down hovels that seemed to be standing mostly because they had not gotten around to make the effort to collapse. There were fences to keep out – things – from the wilds, but they were mostly barbed wire, not even electrical wire. In places, even the barbed wire was missing. The fields were neatly tended but tidiness stopped at the village edge, took a look around, and left for better standards somewhere else.

The hunter halted his horse and remained shielded from view by the trees that offered shade on the road. His gaze roamed the village exterior, scanning for life. There was not much that qualified, and what little there was, looked like, well, crap. A few thin cows. A woman drawing up water from the village well, dressed in a ragged shift and tailed by two children with big eyes and stick limbs. A small graveyard lay on the outskirts, as dilapidated as the rest, and entirely too many graves were fresh.

“Plague?” the symbiont questioned. “Hey, bucko, get me down to the ground and let me have a taste.”

The hunter dismounted and knelt to place his palm against the soil at the roadside. Little crunching, munching sounds ensued, interspersed with muffled observations. “This is some good clay, oh yeah. Nothing wrong with the dirt around here! This isn't some mutant plague or sickness, D. Top soil's perfectly healthy, pristine even, hang on.” The wrinkly little face in the hunter's palm looked like a prune as its brow furrowed. “The dirt's fine, D. It's too fine. It's virginal. It's perfect.”

The hunter stood and looked down. Dandelions, bindweed, and other wild flowers utterly failed to react to his inspecting glare. He prodded a tuft of grass with one boot, noticing others like it that formed a vaguely linear pattern across the soil. “This land was tilled once.”

“Yeah, that's kind of what I'm saying, D. Not like you're going to find anywhere that's flat and never ever has been ploughed or burned or whatever people like to do to good, flat, fertile land. It's not natural, my pretty boy.” The symbiont tongue lashed out. “Wouldn't mind another bite though. Could you put me back down? It's delicious.”

 

* * * *

 

Moonlight draped its silvery, shimmering tendrils around the dark figure approaching on the dark horse. This was the kind of scenery that might inspire an artist soul to never open his eyes again lest he see something that might dilute that perfect memory. The vampire lord, atop his own chestnut horse under the oak tree, admired the view before coaxing the mare into a trot. He let the horse fall into an easy gait alongside the other man. “I'm guessing you did go and look at the village?”

The hunter nodded almost imperceptibly.

“All right, then. Let's dispense with the banter and cut to the chase, shall we? My name is Aldan Thorne. I am the viscount of that pleasant little valley you left behind this morning. You may address me as Aldan, I'm not really a stickler for formalities, and besides, we're family after a fashion.”

The hunter turned his head just enough so that the Noble was in no doubt that he was being glared at from under the widebrimmed hat. He chuckled. “Don't, hunter. What do I call you? Just D? There are a lot of stories about you, some of which hint of your parentage in most curious fashions, but I prefer to not leap to conclusions.”

“D.”

“D it is, then.” Aldan shrugged goodnaturedly. “I'm positive that you're absolutely ready to burst from curiosity about myself and my agenda here. Please don't hesitate to make inquiries or by any other means break that ridiculous silent and brooding mood you've got going. Or, if you'd rather, do keep quiet and I'll do the talking. I'm quite good at that as it happens to be. You'd be surprised to find out how long I can prattle without actually having anything to prattle about. Would you like to give it a try?”

“No.” And then, after a moment, “What do you want?”

“Oh, I want many things. I want to get rid of an inconvenient neighbour, obviously. But most of all, I want you.” The vampire flashed the hunter a smile that contained sharp fangs but somehow managed to remain disarming. “Not in that way, obviously. You're very pretty but my fancy does not swing that way. I want your mind. I want to know how you think.” He paused. “Oh, and there is a girl that needs to be saved from an evil villain. I'm sure that's right up your alley. We'll want to leave the road here.”

 

* * * *

 

The moon was near the end of its nightly journey across the heavens when they reached the edge of the forest that the vampire had guided them through. Now they were on a hill, looking down on neatly tilled meadows and fields bathed in the silvery mist of night.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Aldan's voice was soft with appreciation. “Everything here is so very beautiful, except the villages. They pay such a high price.”

The dhampir raised an eyebrow. His face was hidden under the shadow of his hat and there was no way that even the excellent night vision of a pureblooded vampire could detect it, but Aldan must have guessed it. “Count Landon enjoys beauty. In fact he's quite obsessed with it, in all its forms. Everything you see here is his creation. He's got other quirks, of course. He rather disapproves of deception, one might even say that he's a little, ah, obsessive about it. We'll reach the castle tomorrow night – for now we'll have to seek shelter in a cave nearby.” He paused. “Well, I'll have to. I suppose you don't need to.”

The hunter shrugged but when the viscount spurred his horse back in between the trees he followed.

The cave was concealed from view by hanging vines and shrubs. In a time long past it had been seen use as a shepherds' shelter, that much was evident from various bits of tools and old crockery still lying scattered around. A small circle of stone made it up for a fireplace under a small, natural chimney. It had been a long time since then; the fabric of an abandoned wool blanket had turned to moldy dust.

“No one alive knows about this place besides you and me,” Aldan explained as they lead their horses inside and reinstated the greenery to conceal the entrance. “If you kill me in my sleep, well, then you'll be the only one.”

The dhampir rummaged in his saddlebag, ignoring the Noble's observation. He took a long draught from a leather-encased bottle before putting it back.

Aldan's crimson gaze swept around the cave. “It's hardly first class accomodations but it'll do. The dirt is looser in the back if you need to bury yourself. Do you need to bury yourself?”

The hunter scowled at him.

He shrugged. “I really know next to nothing about dhampirs. You're the first one I've spoken with. Or to, I should be saying, given that I seem to be doing all the talking. I know you can endure the sunlight and that you can subsist on human food, at least for a while. That's pretty much all I know about you. I'm familiar with the stories, of course – dhampirs are born destined to be vampire slayers, blah blah, but from what I've been told, most of them spend a relatively short lifetime fawning and sucking up to the Nobles instead. Except you.”

The vampire pulled the saddle off his horse and saw to its legs and hooves before pulling a blanket out of his saddlebag. He made himself comfortable, breaking the seal on a glowstick and placing it on the derelict fireplace. Its blue glow spread around them, providing far too little light for human comfort, and a bit of warmth. He stretched out and rested his head against his saddle. “Not a word still, eh?”

“There is nothing I need to say,” the hunter replied and sat cross-legged, face towards the cave mouth.

“Not even the slightest curious? Shouldn't you at least be mocking my confidence?”

“I did not ask you to come.”

Aldan yawned, displaying his sharp fangs. “Suit yourself, then. The sun is coming up and I intend to sleep soundly and safely in the comforting knowledge that I am watched, and watched over, by a living legend. Undead legend. Whichever you prefer.”

When at last the sun broke through the mist of the morning the vampire lay unmoving and for all intents and purposes dead. He did not breathe as he lay, head on his saddle and blanket pulled up to his waist, looking quite peaceful. In this light he looked more like a marble effigy than the murderous predator he was.

“That's one messed up fangboy,” the hunter's hand observed. “Has he got a deathwish or something?”

D nodded. “Something.”

“I guess you're not going to be smart about it and stake sleeping beauty while he's out cold? Drag him outside to catch a few rays, maybe cut his head off and kick it around a bit?”

The dhampir removed his hat and placed it carefully on the saddlehorn before sliding down to rest. “Not yet.”

 

* * * *


	2. Chapter 2

Night claimed the valley in a misty fog that was not quite wet enough to be rain but definitely was not dry, either. Moisture formed silvery drops at the end of branches, and the occasional splish-splash of falling drops shattered the silence. The hunter stood at the cave mouth, arms folded across his chest, looking out on the darkening sky.

The vampire's eyelids slid open, revealing two crimson dots in the fading blue light of the dying glowstick. He stood and stretched, cat-like, before walking up to the dhampir. “Good thing we're not far from the castle. I'd hate to be caught outside in that.”

The hunter nodded. Half vampire himself, he shared that species' distaste for rain.

Aldan yawned. “Did you sleep at all?”

He received no response. The dhampir picked up his saddle and walked out through the greenery concealing the cave opening. The Noble shook his auburn mane with a smile, then went to put the glowstick out before he followed suit.

Both horses, cybernetic and unmodded, grazed between the trees outside. One was programmed to obey its master's commands and the other was well trained. Catching them was no challenge. Mounting, Aldan kicked his chestnut into a trot while gesturing at the forest. “We'll shortcut through that ravine to the back of the castle. It's guarded, no doubt, but I'd rather deal with guards that get caught out in the rain.” He glanced up at the dark, starless sky.

“What kind of guards?”

Aldan shrugged. “Nothing you can't handle.” He kicked his mare into a gallop.

“What a time to decide to clam up on us,” the symbiont muttered.

The ravine brought the riders down into dense woodland. The sheltered fields of the villages formed a semi-circle around the hill upon which the castle rested, and they disappeared from sight. The ravine narrowed considerably as they came nearer, allowing either man little space in which to maneuver and taking away the chance to spot an enemy ahead, regardless of how good their night vision. It was the perfect site for an ambush.

Aldan halted his horse near a large boulder and waited for D to catch up. The hunter's black horse was faster by far than the vampire's, but its rider clearly did not wish to keep close quarters.

“This boulder marks the border to the castle grounds,” the Noble explained. “There used to be a sign here but somebody got rid of it. Count Landon will know that we're coming when we continue. Are you ready for, er, surprises, hunter?”

D nodded. He did not reach for his sword. Not all guards employed – or indeed, designed by – Nobles were of a kind that yielded to steel. He spurred his horse into motion and cantered past the boundary boulder.

Nothing happened. The ravine went on and turned some, eventually allowing a view of the great, black castle that was the region's ruler's residence. Like most other castles designed by Nobles, it was tall, ominous and yet oddly graceful, silhouetted against the darkened sky. Otherworldly, it was designed to accomodate its residents in perfect luxury while simultaneously inspiring terror and awe in those mortals unfortunate enough to live their brief lives in its shadow. An occasional light flickered high above, offering evidence of residents. A bridge, arching high and supported by tall stone columns, was wide enough for a single carriage. It lead across a chasm towards what could generously be called a 'back door' – a sealed-off courtyard that served, no doubt, both as a servants' entrance and as an escape route if need should ever be.

“And so the fun begins,” Aldan said. “I'll go first.”

The chestnut took its first tentative steps out on the bridge. The mare was clearly uncomfortable with the change in texture under her hooves. Aldan patted her neck to comfort her and she skittered ahead until all four legs were on the stonework. Nostrils flaring she suddenly reared up and pawed at the air with her front legs before jumping backwards, wild eyed. Aldan managed to stay mounted in a display of excellent horsemanship, and turned her around in a circle. Several minutes passed before the mare stopped trying to buck and bolt, and she was drenched in sweat when she finally gave up and stood still.

“We'll have to walk, I'm afraid.” The vampire dismounted and stroked the horse's flank. “Easy, girl.”

The hunter dismounted also, leaving his horse to stand where it was, obedient and unthinking. He stepped onto the bridge without waiting to see if the other man followed suit.

The instant that the dhampir's boots made contact with the ancient masonry the keening began. It was a high pitched wailing as of a thousand wolves gathered to serenade the moon and finding themselves under attack by rabid sirens – an insane shrief of hundreds and hundreds of voices crying out in rage and terrror. It was more than enough to drive a horse's mind to a panic.

The hunter looked back. One step back of him, Aldan began to speak but his melodic voice was drowned out entirely by the onslaught of shrieks and howls. The vampire realized it and shrugged before he pointed across the bridge. The hunter nodded and began to walk.

The closer they came to the middle of the bridge arch the more intense and unbearable the shrieking became. Gusts of wind tore up from the chasm howling, carrying sprays of white mist that coiled and wafted and solidified into ghastly images of screaming people – and then were torn apart and twisted into new, nightmarish apparitions. Without form or substance, they were unable to touch or indeed hurt either man, but all the same, the hunter's long, sable hair whipped about in the gale of wind and ghosts, and he had to find support on the stone railing to make progress. Behind him, partially sheltered by the dhampir's body, the Noble struggled similarly, eyes crimson slits. Any elegance and grace either man possessed dissipated under the attack, leaving them hard at work, teeth clenched, edging across one step at a time.

And then, the very instant that the hunter's foot connected with solid ground on the other side, the onslaught stopped. The keening did not fade away or dissipate, it ended as if someone had flicked a switch. The hunter was off balance for less than a breath's time as the winds beating against him vanished. The Noble walked straight into his back with an undignified thud, almost pushing D into the great door that was the entrance to the castle.

“Sorry,” Aldan murmured. He stepped around the hunter and smoothed his auburn hair with one hand. “They don't actually do much, but it's such a pain to cross that chasm.”

“What were they?”

The vampire adjusted his coat and neck tie. “Ghosts. Humans who died here. They get a little pissed off at the sight of Nobles. Half-breeds too, it seems. Landon likes to spring them on uninvited gentry.” He stepped up to the double doors and knocked with a pale, firm hand. The sound echoed and dissipated before the doors slowly swung open. The light of chandeliers inside spilled out into the night and cast a ghostly halo around the figure that answered the call.

She was unquestionably female, and she was unquestionably Nobility. Her skin was luminescently pale and her old-fashioned, sweeping dress trailed far behind her, rendering her an air of timelessness. Her features were difficult to make out against the light, but her shape was dainty and the crimson of her eyes and lips drew the eye of either man. She carried a candlestick in one slender hand and set it aside on a small table as she smiled. “Uncle Aldan.”

The vampire shot the hunter a glance as the woman embraced him. “It's so good to see you again, uncle,” she said. “Father is so cross with you. I thought I might never see you again.” Her voice was a musical soprano, the kind that might make a mortal maestro weep.

“It's good to see you again too, Liesl,” the auburn-haired Noble replied in a gentle tone. “You'll want to meet my companion. He's really quite extraordinary.”

The girl dislodged herself from her kinsman and stepped down to curiously look up under the dhampir's hat. She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, he is beautiful! Father will be so happy!” She paused. “Is he – you know?”

The viscount chuckled. “Oh yes. He's quite tame, I assure you, my darling girl. His will sits firmly in my pocket. Couldn't swat a fly without my express permission. Are you going to invite us inside, dear? That storm looks like it's about to break, and you know how much I hate getting wet.”

Liesl giggled and turned her back on the hunter to lead them in through the double doors. Her posture showed no fear or even concern that the taciturn dhampir might not be friendly. She was oblivious to the warning look that Aldan shot D behind her back as they followed her inside.

The hallway was splendid. Literally hundreds of old-fashioned chandeliers offered a dancing illumination that was reflected in floors and walls of black marble, polished to a sheen and veined in shades of darkest emerald. Side tables and the occasional armchair stood along the walls, lion feet and handles crafted in gold. The mahogany showed a rich patina of the sort that only time and tender care can coax forth. The ceiling soared high over head, presenting delicate paintings of forest sceneries so intricate that one might want to get on a ladder to take a closer look at the detailwork.

The maiden herself, now fully visible in the light, was no less a work of art. Long, russet locks spilled from her head, draping themselves like a veil down her back and trailing after her on the floor as she walked on light feet, careful not to tread on the folds of her pale gown which was made from the finest pale yellow damask and covered in intricate pearl embroidery. Her figure, lovingly embraced by the fabric, was perfect; her luminescent, pale features were those of a china doll, painted by a master. She was the sort of maiden to step into a room and render everyone, male and female alike, speechless.

“Have you ever seen anything so perfect?” Aldan murmured.

The hunter offered no response but his gaze pierced the Noble's pale features speculatively.

“I heard that,” Liesl beamed, her face radiant. “You always say the sweetest things to me, Uncle Aldan. Sometimes I think you're just being coy.”

The viscount's expression flickered before a smile danced on his lips. “Of course, dear. You know me too well. Do tell, darling girl, is the Count furious with me still?”

She giggled. “He is quite cross, I told you so. But he'll forgive you when he sees your present.”

The vampire lord tapped his riding crop against his palm. “Well, we better make sure of that, then. Perhaps some of the servants might clean him up a little? I rather think his attire is perfect for him as it is, a little dark and mysterious – but a bath wouldn't hurt, and perhaps a colourful sash to offset those pretty eyes. I'm sure you can think of something.”

The girl clapped her small, perfect hands. “Oh, yes! Let me dress him up for you, Uncle! I'll make him so adorable that Father simply must forgive you on the spot.” She picked a small, gold bell off a side table and produced a soft, tinkling music that echoed down the hallways.

Two servants appeared, literally. They materialized out of nowhere, shadow becoming solid. Both were in the form of beautiful young men the colour of darkness, wearing only thin, gauzy robes of shadow that did nothing to conceal their well muscled forms. A faint glow of blue where their eyes should be was the only thing about them that was not dark as the night. Both bowed deeply to Liesl. She clapped her hands again. “Take the dhampir upstairs and bathe him. I'll pick out something nice for him to wear. Oh, and no touchy touchy.”

The shadowy servants bowed and beckoned for the vampire hunter to follow them.

“Go on,” Aldan said amicably. “I'm sure you don't want to miss out on a chance to bathe and be fawned over, old boy. You might even relax a little.”

The hunter shot him a look of pure malice before following the servants out.

  


* * * *

  


The water of the black marble basin was cool and clean, and scented with something sweet but not too sweet – lavender was the dominant ingredient. A slight current was provided by an engine unseen and unheard. It massaged the hunter's pale skin and muscles in a way that was both pleasant and sensual. The pitterpatter of the rain that had finally begun to fall mixed companionably with the tinkling of a wind chime somewhere. The shadow servants, no doubt creations of the castle's master, disappeared from sight, allowing him to undress and step into the pool alone. Grooming utensils, each a beautiful antique, appeared on a table and unseen hands lit a dozen tall candles to provide a soothing, flickering light. The hunter let out a small sigh of pleasure as he dipped his head under and resurfaced, washing out his long, sable locks.

“D?” his left hand rasped into a snaggle. “What's going on here?”

“I'm not sure,” the hunter admitted.

“Viscount Fancypants is sucking up to his peers, that much is obvious,” the symbiont thought aloud. It absentmindedly consumed whatever particles of dirt that remained in the dhampir's hair. “I'd say we're in trouble except that I'm not feeling jack all when it comes to magic. He's not actually put any kind of glamour on you, no matter what he told pretty chick. Speaking of which, I'd totally hit that before he does.”

“Focus,” the hunter chided.

“Focus my non-existent backside,” the parasite grunted. “Riding crop boy's got a fang-on for that girl and he wants you to get daddy out of the picture. She's not a dhampir, D. She's pureblood for sure.”

“I know.”

“So now we're playing matchmakers to a couple of lovesick bloodsuckers? Did I forget to mention that you've still not been given any real money for this job? Easy on the shampoo. Now what?”

The hunter washed his hair out and in doing so, rendered his companion momentarily silent. “Now we wait and see.”

A door opened and admitted the beautiful Liesl, followed by her two shadowy servants. All three were carrying what might best be described as piles of clothes in various colours, mostly shades of blue and green. The vampiress swept into the room seemingly oblivious to the dhampir's nudity in the pool. “I bet you feel much better now,” she declared. “Now, what shall we have you wear – Uncle Aldan likes you as you are, but really, it's all so dark. Black is so last century, we'll just have to break it up. Do you like scarlet?”

The hunter kept his left hand under the water. Even so, bubbles hinted at the symbiont's choking – not on liquid, but on laughter. With his right hand he reached for a towel to wrap around his waist.

“Oh, don't be silly,” Liesl giggled. “You're hardly the first naked man I've seen. You all look silly dangling like that, just step up and dry yourself off. You're absolutely gorgeous but I'm not going to do something silly and risk breaking Uncle's spell. I bet you're pretty scary with that sword of yours. I'm beautiful, my sweet hunter, not stupid. I don't think I want to get you excited.”

He acknowledged her statement with a small nod as he rose, turning his back to her. Then he shook the water from his body, much like a dog would, and dressed – pointedly taking his own black clothes and body armour and not even considering any of the luxurious garments she had brought.

Liesl tilted her head and pouted slightly. “Not even the scarf? Aquamarine would go so very well with your eyes. I guess you're pretty attached to that whole dark avenger look. At least you smell nice now. Would you like for me to comb your hair?”

“No, thank you.”

The girl made a childish face. “You could at least cooperate a bit. I don't get new toys often. Oh well. We'd better go see Father, then.” She stood and walked through the door, followed by her shadow servants. The hunter strapped his sword to his back and picked up his hat before he followed her out.

An architect could have gotten lost in the maze of hallways, staircases, and galleries that were the insides of Castle Millefleur. He would have done so gleefully, though. Like any structure built by the Nobles in their time of glory, the castle was a monument to a race that thought it had eternity in which to chase perfection and no need to rush the details. It was a bubble of timeless grace, set apart from a world that was rapidly changing.

The grand hall lay at the very core of the castle and, as one might expect, it was the very culmination of nocturnal grace. Tall columns of black marble sprouted from the polished floors, reaching high overhead in the shape of ancient trees and supporting a domed ceiling painted with great care to resemble a star-studded night sky full of the constellations of another era. Velvet drapes in subtle, dark shades of emerald fell from the tall, arched windows like branches and foliage of a pristine, ancient forest. At the very centre, a tinkling, bubbling fountain provided the musical backdrop for a small dais upon which several armchairs stood, throne-like. Even the dhampir, who had visited many Noble castles, had to pause and look around.

Two men sat on the dais. One was the by now familiar form of Aldan Thorne, sprawling in his armchair and playing with his riding crop, tapping it against one boot. He had apparently accepted a change of costume as well, and now sported a neatly tailred, ash grey frock coat and frilly cravat in pale eggshell blue. He looked dashing in the way that all Noblemen looked dashing – effortlessly.

The other man was a Noble, without a doubt. The pale skin, the crimson gaze, the beautiful chiselled features testified to his heritage. His auburn hair was pulled back into a long braid down his back, trailing on the floor behind him. His clothing was an elaborate kimono-like affair in shades of blue and dark green, complete with an elaborately embroidered peacock displaying his astounding tail feathers. The bird shimmered and forever tried to decide whether to reflect the light in blue, purple, or green shades. The vampire's features owned the youth of immortality – and shared the delicate build of Aldan – but something in his expression and jawline spoke of ages gone by, forever failing to touch him. He sat upright, rigid, an icon of perfect composure.

Liesl walked up to the dais, pearl studded slippers making soft sounds on the steps. “He is lovely, Father,” she said by means of introduction. “You'll adore him.”

The marble effigy that was Landon Thorne turned slowly in his seat, taking in the appearance of the dhampir hunter who stood silently below the dais. He rose to his feet, causing a shimmer of purple and green to fall from his clothing like so many stray tendrils of moonlight. “So that's the hunter. He's different from what I expected.” He glanced at the other man. “You've let him keep his blade?”

“He wouldn't let me change his clothes either,” Liesl pouted.

Aldan flashed a brilliant smile. “He's completely under my spell, brother. Couldn't knock a house fly off course without having to ask me for permission first. Besides, without his proper gear he's just a pretty man in black, and we've certainly seen enough of those. With his possessions intact he's a legend.”

The count stroked his chin and then nodded. “Approach, half-breed.”

The hunter did not move.

A frown darkened Landon's face but Aldan spoke first. “He's entirely mine but he'll not take orders from anyone else just yet. I had to be, ah, quite careful to get the spell right. He's not just any half-breed after all.” He gave the hunter a pointed look. “Come up the steps, D. You know you have to do what I tell you to do.”

The dhampir's left hand twitched, perhaps the only outward display of an inner struggle. Then he approached as he was told.

“Why do they call him D?” Liesl asked. “Is it short for something?”

“You can call him anything you like, dear,” the count said over his shoulder before resuming his scrutiny of the dhampir. He stroked the hunter's beardless cheek with a perfectly manicured fingertip. “Yes. Perfect. You really are something. You've done very well, Aldan. Combined with your pets he might just be what I need.”

The viscount tapped his riding crop against his palm. “I'm glad you approve. I'll keep him with me during the day hours, though. I hate to impose on your hospitality but really, I haven't enjoyed the comforts of Castle Millefleur for a while and besides, I'd be most annoyed if my hunter was to break free somehow. I'm quite certain he'd stain the carpets, that sort of thing.”

Count Landon smirked. “With our blood, yes. You're staying until I am done, Aldan.”

  


* * * *


	3. Chapter 3

Two shadow servants, identical to Liesl's attendants, escorted the viscount and the hunter to an apartment high in a castle spire. Luxuriously furnished in shades of dark purple and velvety black, this was a multi-room affair with multiple doors leading away from the master bedroom and its grand, curtained four poster bed. Armchairs, night tables, a writing bureau and various other paraphernalia made the suite opulently pleasant. The silent servants exited immediately upon arrival, not awaiting requests or instructions from their guests.

Aldan casually tossed his riding crop on a recliner and undid the elaborate knot of his cravat before turning around to glance at the hunter – and finding the tip of his long, crescent sword coming to rest against his throat. “Explain yourself,” the hunter's soft voice drawled.

The vampire made a half-hearted attempt to swat the blade aside. It stayed. “I believe I've some explaining to do, indeed. Can we at least be civilized about it? I'd wager that your sword hand is positively itching but even so, I feel a certain survival-focused urge to remind you that I am not the Noble you're supposed to be killing.”

The hunter remained a potentially very lethal statue.

The vampire sighed. “Oh, do come on, D. You're making me nervous.”

The dhampir lowered the blade but did not sheathe it. The viscount sat on the recliner and rubbed his temples as if to ward off a headache. “Landon's the one, but I think you already figured that out. He's a competent sorcerer, however, and we need to deal with what he's been doing to the valley, too. I really do think that walking in here as his guests was preferable to fighting our way in, even if I'm sure that you'd prefer a bloodbath to having Liesl picking out your wardrobe a second time.”

The statue balled its left fist but said nothing.

The vampire smirked. “You do realize that I gave you every chance to ask all these questions on the road? Although I suppose that I might not want to rub that in your face, at least not until you sheathe that sword. Where do you want me to begin?”

“The villages.”

Aldan stretched his long legs and glanced at the suite's arched window, shielded from the soon to be threat of sunlight by heavy drapes. “Do you know what the term 'feudal' means?”

The hunter nodded.

The viscount explained anyway. “It's derived from the ancien term, 'feodary'. Literally, one who holds lands of an overlord in exchange for service. The feodary in question here is clearly me, seeing as that I am the younger Thorne. A fiefdom comes with more responsibility than service to one's liege lord, however. One is also responsible for the fief itself. It's my duty to look after the well-being of the land, and of the tenants who occupy it. In other words, the human villagers. Without my care, the land is rendered unproductive, and without production, there is no prosperity for tenant, feodary, or indeed, liege lord. Do stop me if I go too fast or start to prattle, will you?”

The dhampir sat in an armchair opposite. The long sword remained unsheathed but at least rested its tip on the marble floor.

“In another time and age it was taken for granted that part of a nobleman's duty was to oversee the welfare of his fief, just as his liege would see to his needs and protection. That's how the feudal system works. You protect those below you and serve those above, and in return you have protection and service of your own. It's obviously preferable to be the liege lord and somewhat less desirable to be the lowest ranking serf.” He chuckled. “I'm not going to discuss whether this is the best form of government. I'm sure we have very different perspectives. However, that is the nature of the obligation I feel towards my land.”

The hunter said nothing but his posture relaxed ever so slightly.

Aldan steepled his fingertips. “You've seen the valley for yourself. It's beautiful and fertile, more than easily capable of sustaining its small population. In fact, there's not enough of a population left to properly cultivate the fields, and that's the core of the issue here. Landon's obsession with beauty has literally drained the lifeblood out of his tenants. He needs a new source of sustenance for the magic that keeps the land perfect. The obvious choice is to claim the population of my valley, and that's exactly what he intends to do.” The vampire glowered. “You can imagine how I feel about that, I'm sure. We argued quite a bit, which is why he is 'cross' with me.”

“Tell me about the magic.” The hunter's melodic voice was quiet but authoritative.

The viscount rubbed his temples again. “My brother's a skilled sorcerer. I am no novice in the arts myself but we have somewhat differing talents. Landon has found a way to make his tenants work themselves literally to death. He channels their life force into the soil, somehow. He wants this valley to be the most beautiful farmland on the planet, but unfortunately it's going to kill any farmer who tries to live on it. You might say that he's taken our, ah, way of life to an entirely new level, and turned the very land vampiric. I'd love to tell you all about how he's gone about doing this and how the spell might be revoked – but for some strange reason, my dear, elder brother has not chosen to trust me with that information. Even Liesl probably knows more about it than I do.”

“And your talent?”

Aldan smiled disarmingly. “Why, I'm more of a people person. I have a certain gift for making people like me. I can be quite – charming. I'm also somewhat inclined to keep secrets. In fact, the reason that we can have this conversation without fear of being eavesdropped on is due to a few enchantments of mine.” He waved the riding crop. “I like to keep a token or two about my person that disrupts scrying spells and similar dweomers. It wouldn't do to have my darling family realize that I was lying through my teeth when I said that your will was in my pocket.”

The hunter's lips curled into a small, uncharacteristic smile. “I'll ask for permission if I want to swat a fly.”

The tension level in the suite plummeted. “Please do,” Aldan chuckled. “You've seen what Landon does to people he thinks have lied to him. Now, about sleeping arrangements – I don't see the two of us spooning up in a friendly fashion in that bed. If you don't mind terribly, I'll nap here on the recliner instead.”

The dhampir nodded and sheathed the great sword at last.

The viscount tapped his fingertip against his lower lip. “We should get to work as soon as day breaks. Meanwhile, do you require anything? Sustenance? You don't strike me as the predatory kind of half-breed, but there are excellent synthetics available, and no need whatsoever to abstain.”

“Rest,” was the monosyllabic response.

Aldan kicked his riding boots off and put his feet up. “Well, in that case, my dark, deadly, and frustratingly laconic companion, I shall do you the no doubt much appreciated favour of being entirely quiet until sunrise.”

  


* * * *

  


Had the great, arched windows not been covered by velvet drapes, the first tentative rays of sunlight might have tiptoed into the grand bedroom around the time that the dhampir hunter's eyes opened. He had rested but a few, brief hours, not bothering to undress, but pulling his hat down to cover his face from prying, crimson eyes. He sat up and looked around. His Noble employer was nowhere in sight.

“Fang boy slipped out when you began to snore,” the hunter's left hand observed. “That's what you get for not catching some z's yesterday. And what's the deal with refusing to eat? Do I need to remind you that we got ourselves into this mess because you needed to sleep in a proper bed for once, hmm? In fact, you should go run kimono dude through right now so we can get out already. I hate this place.”

“The spell,” the dhampir reminded his symbiont.

“Meh, you know the drill. Kick the top bloodsucker's face in, the whole castle comes tumbling down. That's how stuff works. And if it doesn't, that's just too bad.”

“Can you pick up Thorne's scent?”

“Which one? There's at least three of them, you realize.”

“Our employer.”

“Sure, no problem. You sure taking off to explore is a good idea, D? You're supposed to be all spellbound and obedient. Your will is in his pocket and all that crap with knocking flies off course.”

The hunter winked. “I'm charmed.”

The wrinkly little face rolled its eyes. “If you two start cuddling and whispering sweet nothings I'm going to throw up.”

“It's the girl I want.”

“I'd be cheering if I thought you meant that,” the symbiont muttered. “Fine. I'll find her and I'll drop a hint if the riding crop fetishist is about to turn up. Just don't yell at me if I bite your thumb or something.”

The dhampir straightened his hat on his head and tugged his cloak about him, then headed out the door. He followed the small tugs on his left wrist that directed his steps through the maze-like castle. Two shadowy guardians materialized and followed him at a respectful distance, unheard but not at all unseen.

  


* * * *

  


One motif which recurred in the endeavour of artists to recreate the ideals of ages long past was that of Venus, goddess of a people so long buried in time that not a stone remained of their sites of worship, rising from the sea. Depictions of her varied in quality and themes as tastes changed and the perception of the ideal female body shifted with the currents of fashion, but certain constants remained. Venus was born of the foam of the ocean, and she was carried ashore by the fishes of the sea or riding a giant clam shell. Sometimes she was surrounded by dolphins, sometimes by manifestations of the winds trying to blow her hair out of the way to reveal her charms. She was beauty incarnate rising from the primeval waters, wet hair trailing, an ideal that had asted a thousand centuries.

Liesl Thorne made for a convincing Venus as she stood in the shallow pool, moist russet locks pooling from her head to obscure her slender frame. Crystalline drops fell from her limbs as she stepped up to stand on the pool's marble edge. She inspected her own appearance with a critical gaze before sitting, naked and dripping, on a small tripod chair and stretching one slender leg out.

One of Castle Millefleur's shadow servants materialized. This one was a female form with athletic proportions but otherwise no different from its male counterparts. It picked up a small ivory file and began careful preparations to correct a tiny flaw in one of the dainty white foot's otherwise perfect mother-of-pearl toe nails.

“Robe,” the maiden purred and shadowy hands draped a thin garment of silvery, feather light silk around her shoulders and closed it in front with a silver brooch depicting a small bird, wings spread, with tiny moonstones for eyes. “You can look now.”

The tall, cloaked form of the dhampir hunter ceased to lean against the doorframe and turned around the face the vampiress.

“You're a modest one, aren't you?” Liesl smiled at him, not taken aback in the slightest by the almost imperceptible crimson glow to his gaze. “I don't think you turned up to sneak a peek at me bathing, though. Not when you refused to enter until I was all modest. At least you like what you see, I'd be so disappointed if you thought me ugly. Does Uncle really let you wander around all by yourself?”

Modesty was of course relative, and prone to shatter at the first breeze to play with gauzy silk. The hunter inclined his head in a small nod.

She pursed her ruby lips in a small, appreciative whistle. “He really must feel very sure about you. Uncle Aldan is always so very careful with his magic. Well, he is when he uses it. Would you like to help me pick out a gown?”

The dhampir's lips thinned, prompting a musical laugh from the girl. “You absolutely hate this! You look adorable when you make that face! Do stop pouting, D. I'm not going to force you to play dress-up. Would you like to talk instead?”

He nodded, closing his left hand in what seemed like a gesture of frustration.

Liesl glanced at her foot and then stretched the other leg, allowing her supernatural maid to continue with the pedicure. “I'm very beautiful,” she mused. “It takes effort, you realize. Even for Nobles. Father would be cross with me if I were to be anything but perfect. You're very lucky to be so pretty. The ladies must be throwing themselves at you. Is that nice?”

“I do not enjoy it,” the hunter replied in his soft tenor.

She winced, prettily. “Are you ever afraid that you might hurt somebody?”

He nodded.

“I am, too. Humans are so fragile. They break so easy. I never mean to, but somehow they always end up dying or trying to run away, even when I try to make things really nice for them.” Liesl gave a small sigh. “That's why Father made these.” She gestured at the shadow maid kneeling at her feet. “But they don't talk. They're not really alive. I don't like them very much. Sometimes I wish I could go live with Uncle Aldan. Most of his servants are mortal.”

The hunter glanced at the door. “You are very fond of your uncle.”

She smiled. “I am. He is very sweet to me. He brings me such nice presents. He brought me you. Father loves me too much to ever let me go.”

Another doorwards glance. “Would you go, if you could?”

Liesl stood without concern for the maid at her feet. Her shin went through the shadow servant's arm like it was made of water – causing ripples but no apparent discomfort in the creature. “I don't think I would,” she said at length. “The world outside our beautiful valley is so very cold and so very ugly. I told you earlier, D. I'm pretty, not dim. Goodmorning, Father. I'm almost ready for bed.”

The dhampir offered no acknowledgement to the Count that appeared in the door, nor to the frown that dwelled on his chiselled brow. He turned and walked away with long, confident strides.

  


* * * *

  


The great library was everything that one might have come to expect at this point. Immense walls were covered in leatherbound tomes from marble floors to arched ceilings. Elegant armchairs and loveseats were scattered about reading tables and, of course, computer interfaces crafted to resemble books, without breaking the ambience. The Counts Thorne obviously appreciated the literary pleasures and had collected books for a very long time.

Aldan Thorne lounged in an armchair about halfway down the main isle, riding crop in his lap. His crimson gaze was focused on the faintly glowing text of a book reader. A crystal glass and ditto decanter, about half full of a red liquid, stood on a small table next to the elegant viscount. He looked up at the dhampir's approach. “Up already? I thought you'd sleep at least a few hours longer so I nipped off to read a little. You weren't uncomfortable on your own, I trust?”

The hunter just looked at him.

He closed the reader and stood, tucking his riding crop into one boot. “I guess not. I'm impressed you didn't get lost. This castle is quite, ah, grand. Now, seeing as that you're the one who makes his living from this kind of work and I am not, I suppose I should be asking you how you'd like to get started? Please don't suggest the sun garden. Also, please don't ask me why any sane Noble would build a sun garden. John Thorne the Second was a bit eccentric, which is a polite way to avoid mentioning that he eventually ended up barbecuing himself in an attempt to acquire a nice tan.”

“Where is Liesl's mother?”

Aldan arched an auburn eyebrow. “She's dead. She died when Liesl was just a little girl.”

D ran a fingertip around the edge of the crystal glass, producing a crisp note. “Your brother raised her on his own.”

The viscount remained puzzled. “He has plenty staff. He did not remarry, if that is what you mean. I don't think that idea has even occurred to him. Besides, there really aren't a lot of unwed Noble ladies around who would meet his standards. Why do you ask?”

The hunter walked around the table, forcing the Noble to twirl about on his feet to keep eye contact. Then the dhampir reached out with his right hand and took the vampire's chin between his thumb and index finger, pulling him close. Although the viscount looked more than a little startled at the sudden close proximity he tolerated the taller man's inspection. “I don't see it,” the hunter said at length.

“Perhaps it would help if you tell me what you're looking for.” The Noble's crimson eyes widened as the hunter raised his left hand and revealed a small, hideous face. “He's looking for the spell that's got your head up your poncy backside,” a hoarse voice rasped. “Now shut your trap and let me do my job. Closer, D.”

The dhampir rested his palm on Aldan's cheek. The Noble visibly steeled himself to not draw away when the symbiont's tongue lashed out and licked his skin in an almost sensual way. “Niice,” it smirked. “You should try it, D. He's kind of sweet.”

The hunter let go and the vampire stepped backwards, eyes wide. “Well?”

The little face licked its lips noisily and winked at the cringing Noble. “Oh, he's got a bad case of glamour all right. Hey, fang boy, how's it feel to be under a vampire's spell?” It laughed uproariously at its own joke.

“I don't understand,” the Noble said, pointedly ignoring suggestive winks from the parasite on the hunter's palm.

“What's not to understand? I'm the brains of this outfit and the big guy is the muscle. That too complicated for you, fancypants?”

The hunter closed his fist.

Aldan rubbed his temple. “Is that thing trustworthy?”

“In such matters, yes.”

The Noble slumped back into the armchair. “No wonder I always get a headache when I visit.” He shot the hunter a pleading look. “Can you tell what's been done to me?”

“Verbal diarrhoea?” the hunter's hand suggested.

“I can guess,” the half-breed replied. “It's an obscuration, designed to keep you from seeing something that is in plain view. Nobles use these enchantments to cause prey to not pay attention to warning signs in the wooing phase.”

“I'm familiar with the concept,” Aldan muttered dryly. “I've never heard of an obscuration being used against one of our own kind, though. This is ridiculous. It's the sort of magic that I'm good at. That should make it even harder for someone else to do this to me. Besides, Landon despises deception. I can't picture my brother pulling something like this. On some human – maybe, though not very likely. Not on a fellow Noble, never.”

The hunter shrugged.

The vampire pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I should be taking your word for it. More so since this is the first time I've heard you string more than four syllables together at once. My head hurts like it's about to explode.”

Perhaps it was sympathy, perhaps just the desire to nip a tirade of complaints in the bud, that made the hunter reach for the decanter and fill the glass before handing it to the viscount. The scent of synthetic blood wafted about, alerting both men's senses but without the intoxicating overtones of the genuine article. Aldan emptied it like a farmhand might down a shot of moonshine. “What am I not seeing?”

“Liesl.”

The vampire returned the glass to the table with an alarmed expression. “Something's wrong with her?”

D gave him a long look, then nodded. “You love her.”

“She's my niece. Of course I love her. I don't have a family of my own to dote on. She's like a sister to me. I love spoiling her, and I love listening to her chatting – but I don't have any questionable designs on her, if that's what you're insinuating.” He paused. “Oh, that's just bloody ridiculous, D. She has not cast any spells on me. She wouldn't know how.”

The hunter shrugged.

“All right. All right. For the sake of the argument, let's say that she could do that. You still haven't told me what it is I'm not seeing.”

The dhampir sat down in the armchair opposite his employer. “You would not believe me.”

Aldan nodded slowly. “I guess I wouldn't. That's the whole point of a glamour, after all. You can't convince a lovestruck girl that her undead suitor has anything but her best interests in mind. I don't suppose you can convince me, either.”

“No,” D said. “Not with words. Now we wait.”

  


* * * *


	4. Chapter 4

If not for time's passing being announced by the chimes of cuckoo clocks cleverly engineered to resemble woodland birds poking out of hiding spots among the shelves, one might never know that outside, the day star, enemy of the Nobility, travelled across the skies. The dim, pleasant light of the library was constant and unchanging, indifferent to the world outside. Time simply did not matter to the castle's immortal residents – although it had allowed some past tinkerer to amuse him- or herself with creating the choir of mechanical birds.

Neither man made conversation as the hours drudged past. The sable-cloaked hunter sat, unmoving, with the air of someone who knew from centuries of experience that everything does indeed come to he who waits. One might easily take him for a statue, although an oddly placed one, given the otherwise sylvan theme of the library. The hunter's two shadow guardians stood equally still nearby.

The vampire lord was slightly less dormant. He sat, legs crossed, and occasionally raised a hand to rub his temple or otherwise fidget. His pleasant features wore a frown and his ruby gaze wandered around the room. A few times he stood and walked around the table before sitting back down. He made no attempts to engage the taciturn hunter in conversation but his frustration was poorly concealed and his mind clearly hard at work. Now and then he glanced at the dhampir and shook his head before resuming his brooding.

When at last a third shadow guardian faded into existence next to the Noble, he looked up with obvious relief. The figure, male in form, bowed and inclined its head towards the grand library doors, unspeaking. “At last,” Aldan muttered and stood before glancing at the hunter. “My dear brother sends for me – and per extension, you. I presume that this is what we have been waiting for?”

The dhampir stood, cloak rustling. “Yes. How is your head?”

“Apart from the unpleasant sensation that a small but vicious imp is using a hammer and chisel to dig his way out from behind my eyebrows, I'm fine. Feel very welcome to commiserate.”

Whether the viscount expected an expression of sympathy or not he received none. The two men left the library, the Noble leading the way through a series of interconnecting galleries and into the great hall with its grandiose display of nocturnal beauty.

The Count of Millefleur reclined on the dais, as statue-like and formal as the previous night. Only his clothing had changed – his current kimono displayed an intricate, weaving dance of silvery herons on a backdrop of bamboo in pale green shades. His beautiful daughter rested at his feet, leaning against his knee. She had picked out a wardrobe in pale cream hues that caused her ivory skin to seem as lumiscent as the distant moon.

“Good evening,” Aldan exclaimed with a cheer that belied his pain. “I trust we're all in good spirits tonight?” He sat down opposite his brother, leaving the dhampir to stand in attendance below the dais. “We're ready to begin, then?”

The elder Thorne nodded curtly. “Indeed. I am confident in your abilities, Aldan. However, the idea of having a hunter of such repute roaming the castle freely troubles me greatly. It is an unnecessary risk.”

The viscount looked sheepish. “I didn't explicitly order him to stay in my suite. I've forbidden him to take any aggressive action against us or the property, though.”

“It doesn't matter,” Landon cut him off. “He is here, and he must be put to use before he figures out a way to become a liability.” He gestured at the hunter's attire, and at the large, blue pendant on his chest. “Are any of these actual enchantments, or are they simply the outwards expressions of a misguided fashion sense?”

Aldan steepled his fingertips. “Some of them are. Tools of the trade, so to speak. They're of little use without the will to command them, though, and the dhampir's will is subject to mine.”

“You should will him to stop scowling,” Liesl giggled. Her russet locks danced.

“On a guesstimate, how many men in their prime would you say he compares to, in terms of vitality?”

The viscount frowned. “I'm not certain I can estimate that, brother. Dhampirs are usually more, ah, energetic than their human counterparts, but it's really quite difficult to tell fact from legend in this case. I've made somewhat of a point out of not getting the opportunity to see him exercise that big sword.”

“Very well. I shall have to find out as I work.” The Count raised his hand. “No, don't even ask, Aldan. This is not an invitation. You have no business in my laboratories.”

“That's hardly sporting. Besides, you need me to tell him what to do.”

“Indeed I do. Tell him to do as I say.”

Aldan sighed. “Right, right. Tell me, though – if it turns out that he's got what your spell requires, will you change your mind about my villagers? I really am quite dedicated to keeping them.”

The elder Thorne's marble features twisted into a mask of cold irritation. “We've had this discussion. We are not having it again. My decision is final. Get other humans if you must.”

The viscount stood. He walked down the steps towards the hunter, facing away from his family. A raw expression of misery fluttered across his pale features for but a fragment of a moment. Then his crimson gaze locked on the dhampir and he folded his arms behind his back, riding crop in one hand, before looking back up at his brother. “I can't let you do that, Landon. I'm sorry. I can't. I won't.”

Time froze, and then apruptly thawed as the Count sprang into fluid motion. He covered the distance from the dais to the floor in one stride. His bloodless hand whipped out like a hunting cat's talons, raking across Aldan's face and knocking him to the ground.

“You dare!” the Noble bellowed. His sudden, explosive rage was as powerful an assault on vampiric senses as the spray of ruby from his brother's face as he was knocked down. “You ungrateful cur! You twisted, worthless piece of offal!” The Count pulled his brother back up by the cravat before clawing his face again, crimson eyes blazing with hatred. “You dare come here, pretending to obey me! You bring this tainted half-breed filth here to do your dirty work! You should have ordered him to attack me while you could because I am not going to let you say one word now, do you hear me? Not. One. Word.”

Up on the dais still, Liesl's red lips formed a little 'o'. The hunter watched her, his thoughts as private as always. She rose, cream dress rustling. “Father. Father!”

Count Landon buried his fist in his brother's auburn mane and held him by it while turning around. His beautiful crane kimono was covered in spatters of blood. The battered viscount was still holding on to his riding crop with one hand, his beautiful face nothing more than a frayed mess.

“Don't let him go to waste,” the girl said. “If you're going to kill my dear Uncle, at least let me have him. I want his life. It will be so very satisfying.”

Landon slammed his fist into Aldan's jaw again, as if for good measure. “You'll have him when he has no mouth left to talk with.” In spite of the harsh words he spoke kindly to his daughter.

The hunter's great sword appeared in his hands so fast that the human eye would not have been able to follow the movement. He leapt onto the dais, great cloak swirling around him not unlike a giant pair of bat's wings.

Liesl screamed and jumped right over the nearest armchair, getting it between herself and the dhampir. The sword came whirling down and shattered the furniture, sending splinters of mahogany flying everywhere. The hunter's eyes flared crimson as his boot swept in behind the girl's knee and sent her to the floor. The sword came down once more, and as the vampiress twisted sideways and saved her neck, it connected with the floor so hard that it shattered a marble tile.

“No! You cannot harm us!” The Count's voice was a mix of fury and disbelief as he saw his daughter crabbing away to escape the hunter's great, black blade.

Dark steel tore through the air and once again, Liesl managed to twist out of harm's way. Her eyes were wide and her beautiful face was a mask of terror as she faced the silent sneer. The tip of the dhampir's fangs raked across his lower lip, leaving thin, ruby lines. He was not a beautiful half-breed with an oversized weapon; he had become whirling, craving death.

“The spell! He cannot harm us!” the Count yelled again. He flung his younger brother aside like one might discard a broken toy and leapt onto the dais in a display of desperate agility. His razor sharp claws slid down the steel of the crescent sword, producing a loud, metallic whine as the dhampir quickly defended himself from the attack of the enraged father. Below them, Aldan collapsed. His ruined face connected with the floor with a squishy thud that went unnoticed by anyone else.

Landon Thorne and the hunter came apart and then crashed back together as the Count went for the dhampir's throat. The clawed attack would surely have shredded a mortal man; thin, red lines appeared on the half-breed's face, matching the glow of his eyes. Behind them, Liesl dove off the dais, the trail of her dress dragging the remains of the splintered chair with it, and scattering them in a spray of very expensive toothpicks.

The enraged Noble had the advantage of fury and purpose, but the dhampir had the sword and the skill. He whirled around and brought the blade down in a low sweep, unbalancing his foe, and then up in high arc that neatly severed Landon's neck. A fountain of blood erupted as the vampire's head went flying. His body took a moment longer to realize the finality of its situation, and then crumpled to lie in a crimson mess of blood drenched crane kimono at the hunter's feet.

“No!” Liesl's scream shattered the momentary silence. “Stay away from me!”

The hunter, face streaked with blood both his own and Landon's, turned to look at her. He cut an imposing figure, shrouded in darkness and death, and while his expression was stoic as ever, it was anything but comforting. He stepped down from the dais purposefully.

The girl moved away from him, trying to keep her distance, and nearly stepped on Aldan as she did so. The viscount groaned and tried to sit up, clinging blindly to her gown with his hands. Liesl found herself unbalanced by his attempt and fell to one knee, squirming and trying to get her blinded uncle between herself at the threat.

“Don't hurt her,” Aldan murmured through broken lips.

The hunter stepped off the dails and strode to stand in front of the two on the floor. He raised the great blade slightly and pointed the tip at the girl. “Do you still want his life?”

“Please, let me go,” she pleaded. “Please don't hurt me. Take anything you want, but please let me go.”

“Do you?” The dhampir's voice never faltered.

She curled up against Aldan and buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder, huddling like a small, frightened child. “Please,” she begged. The vampire slipped his arm protectively around her, unable to see but aware of the direction of danger. “D,” he said softly, “Enough.”

“It's never enough.” The hunter's voice bore a strange finality.

The vampire's eye sockets, shredded by his brother's claws, widened sightlessly and he froze. Blood trickled from his neck where his niece's fangs had pierced skin. “But why?” he whispered.

Liesl clung to him like a burr to a horse's tail, safe in the knowledge that in order to decapitate her, the sword would have to cut through her uncle first and believing the hunter spellbound not to harm him. She literally sucked the strength out of her protector while glaring daggers at the dhampir. “You'll be sorry!” she spat between mouthfuls.

The hunter stood still, waiting.

“I love you,” Aldan breathed as his fist tightened around the riding crop that he still held onto with one hand. Then, using the momentum of his own collapse, he plunged it into her chest.

The vampire hunter prodded the dead girl with the tip of his blade, satisfying himself that she was truly dead. The wooden core of the riding crop had done its job. He sheathed the blade and wiped a sleeve across his face, cleaning away most of the blood spatter.

“Now that's what I call a family outing,” his left hand muttered. “Better open a window before the stench of all that blood makes you lose control.”

“I'll be fine,” the hunter replied. He knelt next to the two nearest bodies and touched a fingertip to the viscount's neck. “He's still alive.”

“I bet you can fix that for him.”

The dhampir pulled the vampire free of the dead girl. Then he stood, carrying the viscount effortlessly in his arms.

“Oh, come on, D.” The symbiont groaned. “Fancypants isn't exactly going to be missed. Take his head off and let's get out of here already. This is no time to get sentimental.”

The hunter gave a rare chuckle. “He's master of the castle now. The shades will not attack us unless he tells them to. If he dies, though – that's anyone's guess as to what they'll do.”

  


* * * *

  


The chestnut mare's nostrils flared at the reek of blood on Aldan's clothes and skin. She snuffled his face with her soft nose, inspecting him. Though she failed to prompt a reaction from her master, she apparently felt confident that no danger was imminent and began to nibble on his forelock. After a while the vampire gave a small grunt and turned his head. The mare pursued and recaptured the treat.

“Oh, look. Fang boy's back from the dead.”

The hunter sat cross-legged, leaning against the rock face. The chasm, with its bridge and howling ghosts, was a stone's throw away and the stars were bright overhead. His black cyborg horse stood in perfect imitation of a statue next to them.

Aldan slowly sat up. Some of his injuries had healed with the speed of a vampire's flesh, and his face had begun to carry some resemblance to human features again, but he was still blind. “Is there a horse chewing on my hair?”

“Yes.”

The Noble swatted at his affectionate mount. “We're outside?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “She's dead.”

“Yes. I've never seen anyone use a riding crop like that before.”

“I thought I might need a weapon.” The vampire slumped back down and lay on his back in the grass. His blind eyes stared into the night sky as if looking for an answer there. The stars remained silent as they are wont to do. After a while he murmured, “You might as well have killed me, too.”

“Here comes the waterworks,” the symbiont muttered. “Trust a vampire to angst.”

The hunter stood and dipped into the saddlebags on his horse. He produced a canteen and knelt next to the vampire, putting it in his hands. “Plasma. Drink. It will help you heal.”

“I don't want to heal. I want to die.”

“You heard him, D,” the symbiont rasped cheerfully. “If we leave now we can be back at that town by noon tomorrow. Clean sheets, proper food. Let's get a move on.”

The dhampir paid no attention to it. “It's not up for debate, Thorne.”

Aldan grimaced. “At least tell me why you suddenly care so much about my state of health.” He put the canteen to his lips and took a sip before wincing. Although whether it was due to the pain of broken lips or the stale, dead taste of cold, synthetic plasma was anyone's guess.

The hunter sat back down. “This valley and the castle is yours now.”

“Lucky me.”

“The spell still remains. Your niece was the spell, given form. Without her will to direct it, the magic will revert to a primal state. The valley will become even more deadly than it already is. You need to be alive so you can find a way to undo the spell, or to take control of it. The villagers depend on you for their survival. If you cannot break the spell, you'll need to rehome them on your own land.”

“Lucky them.” The vampire sighed. “You're right, of course. I was too blind to see. That's why you toyed with her, instead of just killing her. You wanted me to see her for what she was.”

The hunter did not answer but asked instead, “Can you ride?”

The Noble upended the canteen. “No. But I can cling to the saddle if you lead my horse. I can't see, and I'm weak as a kitten.”

The dhampir took the canteen from him and returned it to the saddlebag before helping the blind vampire to mount his horse. Taking the reins he mounted his own horse and set a slow pace up the twisting, winding ravine. The vampire lord's jaws were clenched shut but he stayed upright as they rode away.

  


* * * *

  


The first birds had begun their morning hymns as the two men reached the cave that they had sheltered in on the first day of their journey. The hunter removed the foliage and vines from the entrance and helped the vampire off his horse. He lead him into the cool, forgiving darkness inside. The viscount's pale features were beginning to recover their customary handsome looks, but for a few bruises.

As Aldan sat down next to the cold fireplace he suddenly chuckled. “Oh, the irony. The last time we were here I asked if you needed to bury yourself. Now I'm the one who ought to.” He laid down and stretched out on the cold rock, soaking up the strength of the earth.

“You'll be fine in a day or two.”

“I can't say I feel like I will be.” He sighed. “My body will heal and my sight will recover, I'm sure. My heart – may take a little longer.” He listened as the dhampir removed the tack from the horses and set them free to graze. “How many times? How many times have you done this?”

The hunter paused. Then, after a moment, he replied. “More than I care to remember.” He unsheathed his sword and began to clean it with the skilled calm of someone who well understood the importance of keeping one's tools ready for use at any time. The rythmic noise was oddly soothing in its monotony, and soon the vampire lord drifted off to sleep.

When night fell again he awoke to find the hunter and his cybernetic steed gone.

  


* * * *

  


The taproom fell silent as the tall, dark vampire hunter entered. He walked through a sea of inquiring looks to reach the counter where Mistress Dot stood. “I require lodging and feed for my horse,” he said softly.

The tavern keeper tilted her head to look up under the wide-brimmed hat. “You're on your own?”

“I am.”

Molly put her tray of glasses down on a table, much to the delight of a farmer who thus acquired a batch of free drinks. “Sir? Is he all right?”

The hunter glanced at her, and then nodded.

The girl's ample bosom heaved with relief. “Thank you.”

“Go see to your patrons, Molly.” Mistress Dot waved her serving maid off before giving the hunter a stern look. “I'm guessing you want your steak not too well done, then.”

  


* * * *


End file.
